


Finding Her Voice

by skybone



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Spoilers, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybone/pseuds/skybone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"I know your secret," said the Inquisitor, with a pleased lilt to her voice.</em>
</p>
<p>Reading together is fun, but Trev thinks it could be better. (And no, it’s not what you’re thinking.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Her Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Trespasser, but only a smallish (well, I think it’s smallish) spoiler relating mostly to the epilogue.
> 
> I do not own any of the bits of quoted text, or the characters, or the world; I’ve just taken them out to play.

 “I know your secret,” said the Inquisitor, with a pleased lilt to her voice.

Cassandra twitched and forcibly restrained herself from saying, “Which one?”

“Of course you do,” she said instead, calmly. “I have no secrets from you.”

“Not important ones,” agreed Trev. “But I think there may be a few things you have neglected to mention.”

Cassandra glared at her. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

But Trev just grinned and said nothing more. Cassandra thought that there were times—like this—when her smile could be infuriatingly smug.

*           *           *

“This will drive me mad,” Trev had said once, months, no, well over a year before; it was early in their relationship. The Inquisitor had been injured in a fight with Venatori and for several days after, though back to normal in most respects, found herself subject to headaches. One of the things that set them off was reading, which was a great nuisance. “I can just about manage to finish all the messages that I receive,” she complained, “but I can’t read anything for _pleasure_. It’s infuriating.”

“Is that why you have been so short-tempered?” Reading for pleasure was one of the things that had first brought them together, and so Cassandra was very aware of its importance to Trev.

“I have not—” Trev started angrily, and then stopped. “I suppose I have.”

“I could read to you, if you like,” said Cassandra. She had never read to anyone—well, except to Cole, but he took the words out of her head as she read to herself, which was not the same thing at all. She found the idea or reading out loud to someone else slightly unnerving. But she would very much like to make Trev as happy as Trev made her, and if that meant reading to her, she was more than ready to do it.

Trev looked at her with delight. “Would you?”

And so she did.

*           *           *

First times are rarely perfect, Trev thought to herself as Cassandra ended the chapter and closed the book. The Seeker was _technically_ a good reader; she did not stutter or stumble, and the flow of words was smooth. But she was slightly stilted when she began, and she read in a voice that was barely more than a monotone. Given her taste in reading matter, the Inquisitor was quite certain that what played in Cassandra’s head when she read to herself was not nearly so dull, but perhaps she was incapable of translating it vocally? It was only toward the end of that first chapter that she relaxed enough to allow some expressivity to show, and that was when Trev realized that she was capable of a far more dramatic reading than she had allowed herself.

Well. Perhaps it was simply shyness. If that was the case she could be gently encouraged.

Cassandra relaxed a little over the next few days, and her reading became a bit more dramatic, though the Inquisitor thought she was still repressing a great deal. When Trev recovered from her injury, she offered to read to Cassandra in turn, and the Seeker accepted with pleasure. One could do small tasks such as cleaning or repairing gear while being read to, so it was a practical thing to do as well as enjoyable.

Trev had timed her offer to coincide with a particularly dramatic chapter, and read it with gusto. Cassandra seemed to enjoy it very much, and at the end was happy to agree when Trev said, “Why don’t we do this every day, or at least as often as we can? We could take turns.” And so within a short time reading to each other had become a well-established part of their life together.

Trev’s strategy of encouraging by example paid off; Cassandra’s intonations became noticeably more dramatic. She also began to make side comments on what she was reading, and Trev enjoyed those almost as much as the stories themselves. Occasionally she would respond to a comment, sometimes disagreeing with it, and they would get side-tracked into a cheerful argument and the story itself would be forgotten until the next time.

When the habit of reading aloud was well established, Trev one day said casually, “You have a lovely reading voice, Cassandra. It is so expressive.”

Cassandra turned beet red and grunted expressively, and for the next three weeks her reading was awkward and self-conscious.

Trev pretended not to notice, and eventually Cassandra relaxed. A month after her reading had gone back to normal Trev complimented her again, and again suffered through Cassandra’s embarrassed awkwardness and stilted vocalizing. But this time at least the effect did not last nearly so long.

It reached the point, eventually, where Trev could mention her pleasure with Cassandra’s voice and reading ability and receive nothing in return but a disgusted grunt. She regarded this as a victory.

But yesterday she had started up Cassandra’s stairs and heard her speaking. Perhaps she had a visitor? The Inquisitor paused to look, not wanting to disturb a conversation; but there was no one there but Cassandra, who was sitting at her table, back toward the stairs, reading aloud.

“The court enchanter swirled into the room like a drop of beautiful poison spreading in a wineglass. She sized me up with a glance. ‘I’m so glad you made it, my dear,’ she said. “I am Madame de Fer. The most terrifying person you shall ever meet.’“

She must be reading Varric’s new book—Cassandra had said that he had passed an advance copy to her. But that was not what had transfixed the Inquisitor: it was that the Seeker had mimicked Vivienne with amazing accuracy. And as she listened, Cassandra, scanning quickly through the text, went on to mimic others of the inner circle.

Cassandra had _never_ mimicked anyone when she read aloud to Trev, even when the characters were people she knew, like Varric or Hawke.

Trev listened until the Seeker put the book down with a delighted thump, and then slipped quietly away. If saying that she had an expressive voice reduced Cassandra to stilted awkwardness, mentioning her ability to mimic others certainly would have a similar effect. Perhaps an even worse one, given that she had made her pleasure with the book—and her part in it—very clear, something she would find horribly embarrassing if she was aware that Trev had overheard.

But Trev wanted to hear her read the book aloud, wanted to hear her mimic the voices. She couldn’t resist teasing Cassandra later that day about having a secret, but she waited two more days after that before asking if they could read Varric’s new book after completing the one they were currently reading together. Cassandra happily agreed. Trev waited with pleased anticipation and a few days later Cassandra picked up _All This Shit is Weird_.

And read it with her normally expressive voice, but not a hint of mimicry.

This was... disappointing. Clearly the matter would have to be handled delicately. Perhaps she could find a way to get Cassandra to mimic someone in some context that made doing so natural, so that she could then ask her to do the same when reading.

*           *           *

They were lying back on a pile of pillows in the Inquisitor’s bed. Cassandra was leaning back on Trev, who had wrapped herself around the Seeker and was listening with her eyes closed.

“The Iron Bull was a great slab of muscle, with horns that could hang a tapestry,” read Cassandra dramatically. “One eye scanned for threats, while the other hid behind an eyepatch like a chantry sister’s old sins. ‘C’mon,’ he barked, not looking back as he entered.”

And then Trev interrupted. “The dancer with the great rack comes on in five,” she said in an appallingly bad imitation of Bull.

There was dead silence.

“What?” said Trev innocently, opening her eyes. “I read ahead. I liked that line. It made me laugh.”

“That... was a very bad imitation of Bull,” said Cassandra.

“Oh, so you could do better?” said Trev.

There was another silence.

“Probably not,” said Cassandra, and began to read from the book again. With no mimicry.

Maker, this was going to take _work_.

*           *           *

Cassandra was not a Seeker of Truth by accident. She might have a tendency to be oblivious to some things, but she was a highly trained investigator and not a fool. As soon as Trev mentioned a secret she had begun to puzzle at what the Inquisitor meant by it.

Could it be something to do with Varric’s book? She had heard a noise from the stairs on the day she’d received it. Perhaps someone had heard her? This was worrisome. If they had—well, much depended on who the person who overheard her was. Some could be intimidated if necessary. Or bargained with. If it was Trev—well, that was the least embarrassing possibility, though she would likely also be the hardest to intimidate _or_ bargain with.

But in the end no one had teased her; perhaps she had been lucky.

That relief lasted right up until the moment Trev imitated Bull, at which point all the pieces clicked into place. Her immediate response had been reflexive and defensive, but afterwards she thought about it.

She knew that she had been awkward when they first began reading aloud to each other, and had read badly. She knew that Trev had manipulated her, trying to encourage her to read more dramatically. She was both annoyed and touched by the manipulation; touched because she knew that Trev believed her capable of more and valued her reading enough to try, annoyed because the manipulation worked.

And now she was doing it again.

Anthony was the one who had taught Cassandra mimicry; he had been very good at it, and amused her by imitating people in especially ridiculous ways. He had shown her how to listen for the quirks and characteristics that gave someone’s speech singular character, and encouraged her to copy them. They had spent many entertaining evenings together imitating their uncle and his circle of friends and the occasional suitor for Cassandra’s hand.

It had been a private thing between them. It was not something she wished to demonstrate publically.

But Trev was not public. Trev had insinuated herself into Cassandra’s life until she was a part of her heart, her mind, her very sinews and muscles. Would it be such a bad thing to share this with Trev?

She found that she did not really mind the idea at all.

Trev had suffered so much over the past years. They all had, but the Inquisitor had given more than most. And now, after the Qunari invasion and final resolution of the Exalted Council, she sometimes seemed more like a spirit than a person, drained and untethered and drifting. She did the things that were needed, but with a distracted air. She still took enjoyment in things, but it was a vague pleasure that was not at all like the concentrated, alert delight that she had used to show. This attempt to trick Cassandra into imitating voices was the first time that Trev had shown a focused interest in something in quite some time. It was a very good sign.

It should be encouraged, but not made too easy. There were beneficial effects in pursuing a goal that was challenging. And quite apart from that, Trev had attempted to manipulate Cassandra, rather than simply asking.

No, it would not do to make this too easy for Trev.

*           *           *

The idea came to Trev during their next game of Wicked Grace. She had had one more pint than usual and was feeling slightly reckless. “Leliana, I have heard that there are spies who can disguise themselves as other people so convincingly that even people who know them are fooled,” she said. “Is that true?”

“Oh yes,” said the spymaster complacently. “Sometimes it is as simple as changing hair colouring, or putting on a false beard.” Everyone looked at Blackwall thoughtfully. Blackwall blushed and stroked his beard protectively. “But an expert can do much more than that. There are ways to change the colour of your skin, or even the shape of your face.”

“But what about the voice?” Trev persisted. “Surely that is difficult.”

“It can be,” said Leliana. “But one can make a voice lighter or deeper, and learn the speech patterns and phrasing of the person being imitated. And people hear what they expect to hear.”

“Can you mimic another person’s voice?”

“I am out of practice,” said Leliana, “but let me see...” She cleared her throat and said in Vivienne’s voice, “This is the Game, my dear; everybody plays it.”

Everyone cheered happily and raised their glasses. Leliana gave a small smile. “Vivienne is not really difficult; it is a question of the accent and certain mannerisms. But now I must leave you; I have letters that I must send tonight.” And she was off to the Rookery.

Several of the companions were now trying to imitate Vivienne, to great hilarity, and Trev thought that it was perhaps a good thing that the new Divine was not present. She risked a glance at Cassandra. The Seeker had one raised eyebrow and a dubious look on her face.

“I wonder who would be the hardest of us to mimic?” Trev said when there was a lull in conversation.

“Not the Seeker,” said Varric, and made a disgusted noise. The table collapsed in laughter. Cassandra frowned. But she only said mildly, “You do not have the intonation right, Varric,” which set them all off again.

This of course led to a competition to imitate the Seeker; eventually they agreed that the clear winner was Blackwall, and even Cassandra agreed that his effort was creditable. And after that they tried, one by one, to imitate all of the Councillors and companions.

Most of them were very bad at it, in a hit and miss kind of way. Trev thought that if she had stayed Leliana would have been the only one likely to come close to Cassandra’s ability, which was not surprising given her training.

But through it all, no matter what fools they made of themselves, no matter that under Trev’s encouragement she had had one drink more than usual to lower her guard, Cassandra declined to participate, though she watched with amusement.

Would _nothing_ move the woman?

*           *           *

“I wonder what an actor would make of reading aloud,” said Trev to Cassandra, as the Seeker picked up Varric’s book to read another chapter. “Probably they would do all the voices. It would be magnificent.”

Cassandra shook her head dismissively. “I imagine it would just be distracting,” she said. And began to read aloud in her usual manner.

*           *           *

When the troupe of travelling actors arrived at Skyhold early one morning Trev took little notice. But then she saw Varric, uncharacteristically scowling in the Grand Hall, and stopped to ask him what was wrong.

Those actors will be performing Swords and Shields,” he said.

“Is that bad?” said Trev, puzzled.

“It’s not written as a play,” said the dwarf grumpily. “It won’t work as a play if it’s not adapted, and I haven’t adapted it, and I haven’t given permission for anyone else to adapt it. And this troupe... they have a reputation. They’re terrible.”

“I see,” said Trev slowly. “Well, I imagine they’ll only be here for a couple of nights.”

“That may be a couple of nights too long,” said Varric gloomily. “But there will be some entertainment value in seeing how bad they really are, I suppose.”

*           *           *

“Cassandra,” said Trev, “I have made plans for us for tonight, if you are agreeable.”

“Oh?” said the Seeker. “What did you have in mind?”

“I want to see these actors who have just arrived perform,” said the Inquisitor. “They are doing Swords and Shields.”

Cassandra’s head shot up.

*           *           *

“Leliana,” said Trev, “I plan to take Cassandra to see the actors perform tonight. Perhaps you and Josephine might join us?”

The spymaster looked at her, frowning slightly. “I’ve heard of this troupe,” she said. “They’re terrible. Why would you want to see them?”

“It’s Swords and Shields,” said Trev.

“Ah,” said Leliana. “But my question still stands: knowing that Cassandra cares so much for that story, why would you take her to see a bad performance of it? You know that it would only make her angry.”

Trev hesitated. Cassandra’s secret was not hers to reveal. “I have my reasons.”

“I see,” said the spymaster, and Trev fervently hoped that she did not.

*           *           *

The performance was held in the Herald’s Rest. Trev was not sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing; on one hand, it meant that ale could be used to dull the pain of the experience, but on the other, there were tankards that could be thrown. And she thought that the audience had come very close to it, at times; she suspected that only the presence of the Inquisitor inhibited them. They really were very, very bad actors.

Trev and Cassandra shared a table with Josephine, Leliana, Varric, and Dorian. Out of the corner of her eye, as the performance unfolded, the Inquisitor could watch their reactions. For most of it Josephine’s expression was pained and Leliana’s was frighteningly impassive. Varric looked like he had a toothache. Dorian had conjured a very small light at the end of one finger and was reading a book under the table.

She could not see Cassandra without turning to look at her, which she did not dare to do, but she could hear her. The performance was punctuated by a series of irritated huffs interspersed with stifled disgusted noises. As a percussive accompaniment to the performance it was almost enough to make the experience entertaining.

Almost.

Afterwards, when the noise in the tavern had resumed its normal roar, Josephine, whose expression had still not quite returned to normal, said, “It is good to have—cultural experiences—travel to perform in Skyhold. But I would have preferred an opera in Val Royeaux.”

“So would I,” said Trev quite honestly, which drew a startled expression from the Ambassador. “Perhaps we can pay them to go away before the second performance?”

“I imagine that _is_ how they make a living,” said Varric darkly. “But in this case there will be no second performance, here or elsewhere, and no payment. I intend to make it very clear to them that this—travesty—is unauthorized by the author, and that repeating this performance will bring my attention to them in ways that they will not like.”

“Thank the Maker for _that_ ,” said Dorian, whose eyes had been closed for the last quarter of the performance and still had not reopened. “Perhaps they will be able to find new employment as torturers’ apprentices, given their evident knack for that occupation.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Leliana, “torturers are not so unnecessarily cruel.” She rubbed her forehead. “I first heard of this troupe at least a year ago. It is amazing that they have been able to continue performing for so long. But I understand that one of the lead actors is a wealthy noble who has been able to finance their endeavours despite their lack of talent.”

Trev chanced a look at Cassandra. The Seeker looked like a kettle that had been on the fire too long, red with suppressed fury. “They were _terrible_ ,” she said. “They made your words ridiculous, Varric.”

“More so than they already are?” murmured Dorian.

Cassandra rounded on him. “You—you—” she sputtered incoherently, then, finding her words, “It may not be fine literature, Dorian—”

“Hey!” said Varric.

“—but it is passionate, it is entertaining, and it is internally consistent. _This_ was a travesty. The editing and staging were incompetent. The acting was unconvincing and the voicing of the characters was entirely wrong. The Knight-Captain was embarrassing—it was impossible to believe in her in any way. There was not a single moment that was tolerable.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Trev drily. “I almost forgot how awful they were for a moment at least twice.”

“The Knight-Captain _squeaked_ ,” said Cassandra, in a passionate fury.

There was a short silence while they all stared at her. Trev did not dare say a word, but if she had been a person inclined to prayer she would certainly have been on her knees in supplication to Andraste.

“Her voice was a little light, but not entirely unacceptable, I thought,” said Josephine.

“She is the _hero_ ,” said Cassandra, whose own voice was rising. “A voice defines a person. Even a light, weak voice can be given strength and power by a person’s character. The Knight-Captain’s voice must have authority. It must have... stature. She must not sound like a mouse with a headcold.”

“True” said Dorian, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. “One’s voice is an artistic expression of one’s self, after all. It is a performance.”

“Well, how should she have sounded, then?” said Josephine, looking slightly rebellious.

“Starkhobbin’s troops are camped before our gates, a thousand strong,” Cassandra said dramatically, without hesitation—and in Trev’s voice. “But we have the Compte and the Falcon.” Her voice had gotten steadily louder as she declaimed. “We have our city, and we will defend her! For Carthwall! For our homes! ONE DOWN!”

The noise in the tavern came to an abrupt halt, with everyone staring at their table, and then everyone cheered—apart from the actors. There were a couple of toasts to the Inquisitor shouted out; evidently the imitation had been good enough that several believed that Trev was the one who had spoken.

The tavern might be staring at the table, but the entire table was staring at Cassandra. She had sunk back in her seat, and although she still held her normal erect posture she did not seem quite as large as she had a moment before. The Seeker was still red, but Trev thought that it was not now entirely from rage.

“Well,” said Varric, the first to find his ability to speak again, “it seems that you have hidden talents, Seeker. Perhaps I should hire you to follow this crew and show how it should be done.” Cassandra bared her teeth wordlessly at him.

“Oh, no, now this is too good,” said Dorian, delight oozing from every pore. “And so in character. With our Inquisitor, that is. You have her _voice_ , Cassandra. It is perfection.”

“I have never—” said Trev hurriedly, feeling her ears begin to burn.

“Oh, but you _have_ , Inquisitor,” said Dorian. “You are _inspirational_. Even at your most succinct.”

“Indeed,” said Leliana, whose eyebrows had disappeared under her hood, and whose eyes were twinkling. “And your ability to rouse people with enthusiastic speeches is well documented. Josephine has taken notes, have you not, my love?”

“But—” said Trev, who suspected she was beginning to resemble a pickled beet.

“Of course I have,” said Josephine complacently, not missing a beat. “If Lady Cassandra would care to have another go, this time with your own words, I would be happy to provide them.”

But by then the tavern sounds around them had began to reach normal levels again, and Cassandra was pushing herself upright. “I think that I have had quite enough entertainment for this evening. Are you staying or leaving, Inquisitor?”

“I’m with you,” said Trev hastily, jumping to her feet.

Cassandra gave one more look back at the table and narrowed her eyes. “We will not speak of this again.”

“Oh yes we will,” murmured Varric and Dorian in perfect unison.

But Cassandra, if she heard them, gave no sign; she was already on her way to the door, Trev practically tripping over herself while following. When they emerged into the cold night air, Cassandra stopped and took a deep breath.

“Um... shall we go to my quarters?” said Trev tentatively.

“Yes,” said Cassandra.

*           *           *

The Seeker said nothing as they made their way to Trev’s rooms, where she walked out onto the balcony and stood gazing at the stars. Trev followed and stood beside her.

“You... can imitate other people’s voices,” Trev said eventually into the silence.

“Yes,” said Cassandra. “But you already knew that, did you not?”

Trev hesitated, then finally said, “Yes. I overheard you one day in your loft. Reading from Varric’s book.”

“I thought so,” said Cassandra. She had embarrassed herself badly tonight, moved by anger to the point at which she forgot herself, forgot her determination to hide this skill from everyone, but she found now that she was alone with Trev that she did not really mind so much.

“Wait,” said Trev, “you knew? But if you did you must have known—” She stopped.

“That you were trying to tease me into mimicking people? Yes. Though I am not certain why this is important to you.”

“I want you to use voices when you read to me, that’s all,” said Trev. “But then why—”

“You didn’t ask me directly, so I thought you should work for it,” said Cassandra, and allowed a half smile to show. “But tonight you outmaneuvered me. Though perhaps not so expertly as you were out-maneuvered by our friends.”

Trev began to laugh. “And if I had asked?”

“I would have done it,” said Cassandra. “I cannot promise that I would have done it well; I am not used to doing it in front of others, and you know that I am easily embarrassed about such things. But I would have tried.”

Trev was laughing even harder. “I can’t believe it. All I had to do was ask.”

“I am glad you did not ask,” said Cassandra. “It was more amusing to watch you try to provoke me.” And then she sobered.

“Trev... all you ever have to do is ask. I might not know how to reply; I might not be able to do everything you ask; but I will always try. Do you not know that?”

The Inquisitor stared at her, all laughter abruptly gone. “Cassandra...”

But Cassandra had caught her hand, and was dropping to one knee before her.

“Where you go I will go,” she said. “Where you make your home, there I will stand beside you. When you reach for comfort I will stand beside you. When you take arms against the darkness I will stand beside you. When all the stars have fallen, I will stand beside you.”

It was the Knight-Captain’s most romantic speech, taken from _Swords and Shields_. Her voice was clear and strong and utterly convincing.

“You know that I am not good with words,” she said quietly, then. “But when I find words to speak for me, there are some that I prefer to say in my own voice.”

“Cassandra,” said Trev again, sounding shaken. She pulled at the Seeker’s hand until she came to her feet, and wrapped herself around the other woman. “I _am_ good with finding words,” she whispered against Cassandra’s breast, “and you leave me with none.”

“Then let us find a way to speak without them,” said Cassandra, tugging her toward the bed.

And they did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was having a bit of writer’s block and asked for a prompt, and a lovely anon suggested this: 
> 
> _Cassandra trying to get inquisitor to read Varric's books? Or reading his newest book together?_
> 
> And I said, Oh, _yes_. 
> 
> So here it is. Perhaps not quite as they intended, but it’s still about reading together. Because, of course, the easter egg in the epilogue is so utterly delightful as to be irresistible. 
> 
> As usual, many thanks are owed to my partner, who made a few suggestions, including using a visiting troupe of actors, and pointed out a hole in the overall plot structure. What would I do without her? Not write as well, obviously.


End file.
